A Parent for Owen Meany Chapter 2
by clothesdfiles
Summary: A Prayer for Owen Meany, written by John Irving, is a story about John Wheelwright and his best friend Owen Meany, a small dwarf with a loud voice. Throughout the book, he explored religion, patriotism, and friendship, but we what if the title character lost his supernatural intuition? What if he wasn't a virgin birth, but a regular boy?


Chapter 2: Owen

"DOONG SA, DON'T BE SCARED" I TOLD THE CHILDREN, WHO WERE STILL SHAKING AND WHIMPERING FROM THE SOUND OF THE GRENADE. I HEARD A THUD, AND JOHN CRUMPLED INTO A BLOODY HEAP ON THE FLOOR. I LOOKED DOWN, AND REALIZED THE CRUCIAL ERROR IN MY VISION. A PART OF ME DIED WHEN JOHN DID, BUT HE WAS THE ONE THE WORLD HAD LOST.

"DOONG SA," I REPEATED, BUT IT WAS UNNECESSARY. THEY HAD TURNED AROUND TO SEE WHAT HAD HAPPENED, SHOCK EVIDENT IN THEIR FACES AS THEY SAW JOHN'S STATE.

THE NUN AND SMALL CHILDREN CROWDED AROUND HIM, AND ALL SHARED IN THE MOMENT AS WE, BATHED IN THE BLOOD OF OUR SAVIOR, PEERED AT HIS LIFELESS BODY. THE NUN COVERED HIS COLD BODY WITH HER HABIT THE BEST SHE COULD, BRINGING HIS HEAD INTO HER LAP. AS HE SHIVERED OUT OF THIS LIFE, HE SMILED AND CLOSED HIS EYES. WHAT HE TOLD ME WAS IRONIC, THOUGH. I WASN'T THE ONE WITH THE MYSTERIOUS FATHER, BUT I COULD SEE WHAT HE WAS ASKING OF ME.

WHEN I WAS ELEVEN, I WAS TOLD THAT I WAS BORN DIFFERENT. BY THEN, I COULD SEE THE DIFFERENCES BETWEEN MYSELF AND THE OTHER KIDS. I DIDN'T REALLY MIND. AS A CATHOLIC, I WAS TAUGHT THAT WE WERE ALL BORN DIFFERENTLY FOR A REASON, AND THAT EVEN THROUGH ALL OF OUR DIFFERENCES, EVERYONE IS CONSIDERED A CHILD OF GOD. AND I BELIEVED IT.

MY FATHER AND I ATTENDED MASS TOGETHER ONE WEEKEND. WE ALWAYS CONSIDERED THIS ACTION TO BE THE CONFIRMATION OF OUR FAITH. I ENJOYED THE SYSTEM- STANDING UP TO SING AND PRAISE, THEN SITTING TO HEAR THE READINGS, AND SO ON AND SO FORTH.

THE READING OF THE ANNUNCIATION ALWAYS INTERESTED ME, THOUGH. IT WAS SPECIAL IN AN ODD TYPE OF WAY. MARY, A REGULAR HUMAN GIRL, ACCEPTED THE TASK OF RAISING THE CHILD OF GOD. IT WASN'T MUCH, BUT IT SEEMED TO APPLY TO MANY OTHER TYPES OF BIRTHS I'VE HEARD ABOUT- UNPLANNED KIDS WHO BECAME THE SURPRISE RESPONSIBILITY TO UNPREPARED PARENTS. HER STORY WAS AN INSPIRATION, A REMINDER FOR PARENTS TO ALWAYS REMEMBER THAT THEIR CHILDREN HAVE SO MUCH POTENTIAL.

THIS TIME, I TALKED TO MY FATHER DURING THE READING.

"WASN'T MARY BRAVE TO DO THAT?" I ASKED HIM.

HE CHUCKLED. "DO YOU ESPECIALLY LIKE THIS STORY?" HE QUESTIONED.

"SHE WAS GIVEN A RESPONSIBILITY, AND SHE AGREED TO IT SO EASILY. SHE MUST HAVE REALLY HAD GREAT FAITH, DON'T YOU THINK?" I ASKED HIM IN RESPONSE.

"YOU KNOW, YOU WERE BORN SOMEWHAT THE SAME WAY," HE SAID SLOWLY, PRONOUNCING EVERY SYLLABLE OF THE SENTENCE AS IF HE HAD TO BALANCE THE WORDS ON HIS TONGUE.

WE SAT BACK DOWN, AND THE PRIEST BEGAN HIS HOMILY.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT?" I ASKED, CURIOUSLY.

"NEVER MIND IT, THEN," MY FATHER SAID, RETRACTING HIMSELF FROM THE CONVERSATION.

I WOULDN'T LET HIM DO THAT. I PUSHED FORWARD. "YOU WERE GOING TO TELL ME SOMETHING IMPORTANT," I SAID, "YOU CAN'T STOP JUST LIKE THAT!"

HE FROWNED, BUT I CONTINUED. "WHAT MAKES MY BIRTH SO SPECIAL?"

HE SHOOK HIS HEAD, LOOKING DOWN, AS IF TRYING TO IGNORE MY QUESTIONS.

OTHERS AROUND US BEGAN TO TURN THEIR HEADS, BUT AT THIS POINT, I COULDN'T HAVE CARED LESS.

"YOU MUST HAVE THOUGHT THAT I COULD ACCEPT THE TRUTH! HOW WAS MY BIRTH SIMILAR TO JESUS'S?"

HE SHOOK HIS HEAD. "LATER," HE SAID.

"YOU HAVE TO TELL ME SOMETIME, SO DO IT NOW!" I YELLED SO LOUDLY AND WITH SUCH IMPATIENCE AND THAT THE CONGREGATION SOON FOCUSED ON OUR EXCHANGE INSTEAD OF THE HOMILY ITSELF.

MY FATHER SIGHED, LOOKING AROUND, AND THEN RESIGNING TO MY FORCEFUL QUESTIONING.

"YOUR MOTHER WAS A VIRGIN WHEN YOU WERE BORN," HE WHISPERED.

I SEARCHED HIS FACE FOR ANY SIGNS OF LIES, FOR ANY TYPE OF DECEPTION. I COULDN'T FIND ANYTHING. HE LOOK HE GAVE ME WAS ONE OF COMPLETE TRUTH. I BELIEVED IT THEN, AND STILL BELIEVE IT NOW. I SAT BACK DOWN.

BUT AS QUIETLY AS HE WHISPERED IT, EVERYONE ELSE HAD HEARD. I LOOKED AT THEIR FACES, ALL SHARING A JUDGMENTAL LOOK, EACH PERSON'S FACE MIRRORING THE NEXT, LOOKING AS IF THEY WERE CLOSING IN ON US, THEIR GAZES GETTING INTENSIFYING WITH EVERY SECOND. THE PRIEST THEN MADE HIS WAY FROM THE PULPIT DOWN TO OUR SEAT, SEVEN ROWS FROM THE ALTER AND THREE FROM THE LARGE STATUE OF THE CRUCIFIED JESUS THAT WATCHED OVER US ALL.

"…WHOSOEVER LIVETH AND BELIEVETH IN ME SHALL NEVER DIE," I SAID TO NO ONE IN PARTICULAR. SILENT TEARS STREAMED DOWN MY FACE. I KNELT DOWN, GETTING CLOSER TO JOHN, AND WIPED MY TEARS ON MY SLEEVE.

THE NUN NODDED IN AGREEMENT, MAKING THE SIGN OF THE CROSS OVER HIM, SMEARING DOTS OF BLOOD INTO A CRUDE CROSS ON HIS FOREHEAD.

"INTO PARADISE MAY THE ANGELS LEAD YOU," I HAD SAID OVER TABITHA'S GRAVE. I SAID THE SAME OVER JOHN, WHOSE LAST TRIUMPHANT EXPRESSION LEFT ME ALMOST AT A LOSS FOR WORDS. HE MUST HAVE DIED IN SUCH PAIN, BUT SOMEHOW, HE WAS AT PEACE.

"HE DIDN'T NEED TO DIE," SHE SAID, "HE DECIDED TO SAVE US ALL."

"HE DIDN'T NEED TO SAVE ANYONE," I REPLIED, "THIS IS WHAT I WAS MEANT TO DO. HE TOOK MY ONE MISSION AWAY FROM ME."

THE NUN LOOKED AT ME, CONFUSED FOR A SECOND, THEN PUT JOHN DOWN. SHE GATHERED THE CHILDREN AND SOOTHED THEM WITH A SOFT, PATIENT VOICE.

JOHN DIED IN MY PLACE, LEAVING ME NO REASON TO LIVE ON. I HAD ONE PURPOSE IN LIFE, BUT IT WASN'T FULFILLED BY ME. WHAT WAS I GOING TO DO WITH THE REST OF MY LIFE?

JOHN'S FUNERAL DIDN'T HAVE MANY PEOPLE. IT WAS QUIET, AND ATTENDED BY ONLY HIS FAMILY, INCLUDING DAN, AND ME. WE SANG NO HYMNS AND SAID NOTHING TO EACH OTHER, SIMPLY SHARING GLANCES AND STARING AT THE SHINY OAK OF JOHN'S CASKET. HESTER, NOAH AND SIMON WERE ALL THERE AS WELL. HESTER GREETED ME SILENTLY, GIVING ME A WARM HUG. SHE STOOD NEXT TO ME THROUGH THE WHOLE CEREMONY.

I WENT HOME AFTERWARDS, OPENING THE GARAGE AND GOING INTO THE PLACE I HAD STORED MY LAST PROJECT I MADE. I GRABBED THE GRAVESTONE I HAD CARVED, THE ONE I HAD SEEN IN MY VISION YEARS AGO. I PLACED MY HAND OVER THE PERFECT LINES OF THE DATE, AND THEN TRACED THE PATH OF THE DRILL OVER MY NAME. IT WAS CARVED PERFECTLY, AND YET, IT WAS ALL WRONG.

SUDDENLY, I CURVED MY FINGERS INTO A FIST, AND ANGRILY HIT THE COLD GRANITE. PAIN LACED UP MY ARM AND BLOOD POURED OUT OF MY NEW WOUNDS. STILL, MY USELESS CREATION WAS PERFECT. IT WAS UNCHANGED, EXCEPT FOR THE THREE LINES OF BLOOD THAT DRIPPED FROM MY FIST, SETTLING INTO THE GENTLE CURVES OF THE DATE, COLORING THE NUMBERS A DEEP RED. I GRABBED A NEARBY RAG WIPED MY HANDS OFF, TURNING THE STONE OVER AND STARING AT THE SMOOTH BACK.

I CARRIED IT OVER TO THE DIAMOND DRILL AND BEGAN TO WORK. SLOWLY, I BROUGHT THE BLADE BACK AND FORTH, CARVING THE SAME WAY I HAD DONE WHEN I CARVED MY OWN NAME ON THERE. SOMETIME LATER, I BLEW OFF THE LAST BITS OF GRANITE DUST AND REREAD THE NEW CARVING. "JOHN WHEELWRIGHT," IT BEGAN, AND THEN CONCLUDED WITH HIS BIRTH AND DEATH DATES. THIS WAS THE TOMBSTONE THEY WOULD USE ON JOHN'S GRAVE. I SAW TO IT THAT THEY DID.


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